“But I never denied being on the bridge.”

“No. But you led us to believe you didn’t see Deborah Harrison. Now you’re changing your story. I’d like to know why.”

“I was confused, that’s all.”

“I understand that, Owen. But why didn’t you tell the detectives who first interviewed you that you’d seen Deborah that night?”

“I told you. It slipped my mind. After all, I had no idea why the detectives were talking to me. Then later, when I knew…well, I was worried that this was exactly the kind of thing that would happen if I did tell you, that you would misconstrue it.”

“Misconstrue?”

“Yes. Misinterpret, distort, misunderstand.”

“I know what the word means, Owen,” said Banks. “I don’t need a bloody thesaurus, thank you very much. I just don’t see how it applies in your case.”

“I’m sorry. Just put it down to an English teacher’s pedantry. What I mean is, I thought you’d read more into it, that’s all. When you get right down to it, it’s not very much in the way of evidence, is it? You have to admit.” Owen attempted a smile, but it came out crooked. “I mean, a couple of hairs. Hardly enough to stand up in court, is it?”

“Don’t get clever with me, sonny.”

“I…I wasn’t. I was just pointing out, that’s all.”

“But we don’t know how the hairs got where they did, do we?”

“That’s what I’m saying. Maybe it happened when she bumped into me.”

“If it was her who bumped into you.”

“I can’t think of any other explanation.”

“But I can. See, you’ve lied to us before, Owen. To DI Stott and DS Hatchley. Why should we believe you now?”

Owen swallowed. His Adam’s apple bumped up and down. “Lied?”

“Well, you never told us about seeing Deborah, or about bumping into her for that matter. That’s a lie of a kind, isn’t it? You might call it a lie of omission. And you also said you didn’t know the girl in the photo, but you do know her, don’t you?”

“No. I-”

Banks sighed. “Look, Owen, I’m giving you a chance to dig yourself out of this hole before it’s too late. We’ve talked to the landlord of the Nag’s Head again, showed him the picture of this ‘model.’ He says you’ve been in the pub with her on a number of occasions. He’s seen you together. What do you have to say about that?”

Banks noticed the sweat start beading on Owen’s forehead. “All right, I know her. Knew her. But I don’t see how it’s relevant in any way. She was my girlfriend. We lived together. Does that satisfy you?”

“Who is she? Where is she now? What happened to her?”

Owen put his hands over his ears. “I don’t believe I’m hearing this. Surely you can’t think that I’ve killed Michelle, too?”

“Too? As well as who?”

“For Christ’s sake. It’s a figure of speech.”

“I’d have thought a pedantic English teacher like yourself would be more careful with his figures of speech.”

“Yes, well, I’m upset.”

“This Michelle, what happened?”

“We lived together for nearly five years, then we split up over the summer. Simple as that.”

“And where is she now?”

“She lives in London. In Swiss Cottage.”

“Why did you split up?”

“Why does anyone split up?”

“Irreconcilable differences?” Banks suggested.

Owen laughed harshly. “Yes. That’ll do. Irreconcilable differences. You could call it that.”

“What would you call it?”

“It’s none of your business. But there is something else. It’s got nothing to do with this at all, but if it’ll help…”

“Yes?”

“Well, it’s the reason I was out walking. It was the anniversary. The anniversary of the day we met. I was a little down, a bit sad. We used to go for walks by the river, as far as St. Mary’s, or even further, and we’d sometimes drop in at the Nag’s Head to wet our whistles. So I just went for that long walk to get it out of my system.”

“You were upset?”

“Of course I was upset. I loved her.”

“And did you get it out of your system?”

“To a certain extent.”

“How did you get it out of your system?”

“Oh, this is absurd. You’ve got a one-track mind. There’s no point talking to you any more.”

“Maybe not, Owen. But you’ve got to admit things are looking pretty bleak. You lied to us four times.” He counted them off on his fingers. “Once about why you were out walking, once about never meeting Deborah Harrison, once about not knowing the girl in the photo and once again about never having lived with anyone. All lies, Owen. You see what a position it puts me in?”

“But they were all so…such small lies. Yes, all right, I lied. I admit it. But that’s all. I haven’t harmed anyone.”

At that point came the soft knock at the door that Banks had arranged earlier. He turned off the tape recorders and told the person to come in. DI Stott entered, nodded quickly at Owen Pierce and apologized for disturbing them. Then he handed a report to Banks and stood by the door.

Banks glanced over the sheets of paper, taking his time, pretending he didn’t already know the information they contained. When he had finished, he passed them to Susan. All the time, he was aware of Owen’s discomfort and restlessness. Susan read the report and raised her eyebrows. Banks thought they were overacting a bit, behaving like doctors who had just looked at the X-rays and found out their patient had an inoperable tumor. But it was working. Pierce was really sweating now.

Banks turned the tape recorders on again, explaining briefly why he had turned them off and adding that DI Stott was now also in the room. “Results of the blood tests,” he said to Owen.

“What blood tests?”

“Remember, we took samples the other day?”

“Yes, but…”

“With your permission.”

“I know, but-”

“Well, we also found a small dried bloodstain on your anorak, and according to this report, Owen, it’s Deborah Harrison’s blood group, not yours. Can you explain that?”

“I…I…”

The three detectives remained silent for a few moments as Owen struggled for an explanation. Then Banks spoke up again. “Come on, Owen,” he said. “Tell us about it. It’ll do you good.”

Owen slammed his fist on the table. “There’s nothing to tell! I saw a girl. She bumped into me. Then she ran off. She might have been Deborah Harrison. It was foggy. I didn’t get a clear enough look. That’s all that happened. I don’t know how her blood got there. You’re trying to frame me. You’re planting evidence.”

“You’re starting to sound a bit desperate now, Owen,” Banks said. “Clutching at straws. Why don’t you calm down and tell us all about it?”

“But why would I have killed the girl? What possible reason could I have? Why don’t you believe me?”

“Because you didn’t tell us the truth. That means you had something to hide. And there’s something else, too.”

“What?”

“We found your blood under Deborah Harrison’s fingernails. What do you have to say to that?”

“Nothing,” Owen said, “I want a solicitor. Now. I’m not saying another word until I get a solicitor.”

“That’s your right,” said Banks. “But just hear me out for a moment before you do or say anything else. You’ll feel much better if you just tell us what happened. And it’ll go better for you in the long run. When you saw Deborah Harrison on the bridge, she reminded you of this Michelle, didn’t she? The girl you were upset about. Were you punishing Michelle through Deborah, Owen? Is that what all this was about? What did she do to you?”

Owen broke off eye contact. “Nothing,” he said. “This is all just speculation. It’s rubbish.”

“You followed her into the graveyard and you approached her, didn’t you?” Banks went on, resting his elbows on the desk and speaking softly. “Maybe you offered her a fiver to toss you off so you could pretend it was Michelle doing it. Whatever. It doesn’t matter. But she reacted badly. She got scared. You dragged her off the path, behind the Inchcliffe Mausoleum. It was dark and foggy and quiet there. You were going to give her what for, weren’t you? Give it to her good and proper just to show her she couldn’t do what she did to you and get away with it? All your anger burst out, didn’t it, Owen? What happened? Couldn’t you get it up? What did Michelle do to you? It was her you were strangling, wasn’t it? Why did you lie about knowing her?”